Wanna Watch the Super Bowl?
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Greg Lestrade invites Sherlock and Molly to watch the Super Bowl at a pub with his girlfriend Lori and himself. Sherlock and Molly are clueless about foitball, and find it hard to concentrate on the game. Sensual, but not explicit.
1. Chapter 1

It was the last week of January when Sherlock got a strange text from Greg Lestrade.

"Hey, Sherlock. Do you and Molly have anything going on this Sunday night? It's not a case, but it will be a late night."

"What do you make of this?" Sherlock asked, showing Molly the text.

Molly was curled up on the sofa, wearing Sherlock's blue dressing gown. It wasn't really his anymore though, because her own dressing gown was not big enough to cover her expanding girth. Therefore Molly had commandeered it for her own use. She loved the way it retained his scent, it was comforting. Looking away from reading a Barbara Cartland novel, one of Sherlock's Christmas gifts to her because he knew she enjoyed the author's historical romances, she read the text and responded with a roll of her eyes, "The best way to find out is to text him back, honey."

"I suppose so. Do we have anything planned for this weekend anyway?"

"Not that I know of."

Sherlock sent off a return text. "Molly and I are free. What did you have in mind?"

The response, quite a lengthy text, came in a few minutes later.

"Well, as you know, my girlfriend, Lori is from the States. She's a big American football fan and wants to watch the Super Bowl on the big screen. Because of the time difference, it's going to be late Sunday night, going into the early hours of Monday. I was wondering if you and Molly might like to enjoy a night of social entertainment with us? It would be nice to catch up away from the workplace again, and Lori and Molly seem to get along pretty nicely. So, how about it, old chap? Wanna live a little?"

Sherlock read the text aloud to Molly, then asked, "Well, what do you think? Fancy a night out?"

Molly thought for a moment, then said, "I do like Lori, she has some fascinating stories to tell about America. Besides, you did just get that offer to go on a late night talk show there. If we decide to go, it might be nice to find out a bit more about the culture there. Also," she added impishly, "I rather like the idea of sitting in a darkened pub with you."

"Mmm, are you giving me the go ahead for a little flirtation while we are there?" He gave her that seductive sidelong glance that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

"I'm sure that's not the reason Greg is inviting us, to flirt and all. But hey, there's only so much time you can spend in conversation before your mind starts to wander - and your hands too." She winked at him.

"Molly, what have I told you about your sexy talk? Better stop now or I won't be able to answer Greg's text."

"Fine," pouted Molly. "Tell him we say yes. He can give us with all the details later."

Sherlock sent off the next text. "Molly is looking forward to seeing Lori again. Just let us know when and where, and we'll be there."

Molly put her book on the coffee table, stood and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's waist. "Done?" she asked.

"Done," he affirmed.

"Good. You know, these romance novels always make me feel...romantic," she purred. "Do you want to practice some flirtation for the pub?"

"My God, woman, you and this pregnancy libido. I can't keep up with you." Despite his words, Molly could feel him pressing up against her as he put his hands in her hair and kissed her. Oh, he most definitely could keep up, judging by the evidence of his body's response to her.

Molly threw her head back, inviting him without words to nuzzle her neck, which of course, he did.

"Oh, my little vixen. Who would have ever believed you could be this way?" he said. "Everyone thinks you're such a good Christian girl."

"Sherlock, I AM a good Christian girl! We're married. Nothing in the Bible says there's any limit to how much you can make love once you're married."

"You do make a persuasive argument, my wife. But before things go too far, I expect you need to use the loo."

"Nope," she replied pertly. "I just went ten minutes ago."

"In that case," he said with a definite gleam in his eye, "shall we have an early night?"

Instead of answering, Molly started to undo the button of his jacket, then his shirt buttons. "Thank goodness you don't have a waistcoat to remove as well this tine," she commented, remembering the re-creation where he had worn a suit like he had worn for John's wedding. "Hey, maybe I should get you to wear jumpers like John, over your shirt. At least that would eliminate the jacket button."

He quirked a brow at her, "Do I really look like the type of man who would be comfortable in a jumper?"

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "Maybe at home you can at least take off the jacket and just wear your shirt."

"I could do that," he agreed. "Let me precipitate this next action." Molly's hands fell away from his shirt as he lifted it, with two buttons still fastened, over and off his body, then tossed it unceremoniously on the ground.

His phone pinged. It was probably Greg sending the details for Sunday night, but neither of them bothered to check, being much too busy with each other.

Molly ran her hands along Sherlock's chest, and he caught his breath. She leaned into his chest, kissing his pectoral muscles and then that tiny scar from the bullet wound. As she did so, she felt him tugging at the belt of her dressing gown, until it opened.

Molly was quite satisfied to hear Sherlock's sharp intake of breath once again.

"Molly, you're not wearing anything underneath the dressing gown!"

Molly lifted her head from where she had been pressing more kisses against his chest. "Tell me something I don't already know," she quipped.

"So, do you mind telling me why you were reading a book on the sofa, and yet you were naked underneath MY dressing gown?"

"What's there to tell? My chemises do not fit me right now, and I don't particularly like the constriction of a bra underneath a dressing gown."

"And the reason for your lack of knickers?" he asked, cupping a possessive hand over one breast, while grasping her hip with his other.

"Uhh..." Molly was having trouble remembering what he was saying. The touch of his hands on her body was as intoxicating as if she had had a few too many drinks. **_What was he asking her? Oh right, the knickers thing._** "I wanted my skin to breathe," she supplied as answer to his question.

Sherlock's lips descended on hers in a very possessive kiss, and she felt her own passion rising within her. She felt Sherlock fumbling to unfasten his trousers and remove them, along with his boxers, as he continued to possess her mouth with hot, fiery kisses.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. "Sherlock," she gasped against his lips, "are you going to take me to the bedroom now?"

He paused in his kissing long enough to say, "Nope!" popping his "p" as usual. "You've tempted me too much. No time to take you to the bedroom, I think I'm just going to take you right here."

He walked her backward so she fell onto the sofa, pulling him down with her. Then she arched her back in invitation to her husband.

Their joining was fiery and passionate, even more-so than usual, as Molly gloried in her husband's caresses.

Afterwards, Sherlock drew her to her feet and held his wife as closely as he could, without pushing too hard against her belly, as they struggled to regain their breath.

Molly heaved out a long, contented sigh. "May I say, Mr. Holmes, you are entirely too good at this?"

He chuckled. "Well, we have been 'practicing' an awful lot, ever since our wedding night. I think we might have made love more than the average couple does in two years. I still have many years to catch up on though, as do you, my angel."

"I thought you said you couldn't keep up with me," said Molly playfully.

"Mmm, I lied. I could never have enough of you," he replied in his deep voice, and Molly giggled.

* * *

A few nights later, the couples were sitting at a table in the pub Greg had told them about, ready to watch the screen. The game was due to start at half past eleven, which wasn't far away. Molly was wearing the maternity dress she and Sherlock had purchased together for their recent scenario re-creation. Normally she would not have been wearing a summer dress in winter, but she still hadn't managed to get much in the way of maternity wear, and her clothes were getting uncomfortably tight around her abdomen. Sherlock had provided her with one of his extra Belstaff coats (he had several) which she was still able to button. The pub was very warm due to the great number of people who had come to watch the Super Bowl on the big television screen.

"So, what's this football all about? How do they score?" asked Molly.

Lori launched into an explanation about getting downs and first downs, and touchdowns. It was all very confusing.

"So these guys don't kick the football around? They mainly pass it or throw it?" queried Sherlock, who sounded as lost as Molly.

"Yeah," supplied Greg. "Lori has been trying to explain the game for weeks and I'm still not sure about it all."

Lori laughed and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. "Don't sell yourself short, darlin', you've learned a lot about the game. I'll make a Steelers fan out of you yet. It's too bad they didn't get to the Super Bowl this year. Personally, I hope the Eagles win. I'm so sick of the Patriots winning."

Greg gave her what could only be termed as a totally goofy, head-over-heels smile and patted her knee affectionately. "The Steelers are her favourite team. They're in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania," he explained to the bemused Molly and Sherlock. "The Super Bowl teams this year are the Philadelphia Eagles and the New England Patriots."

Molly leaned close to Sherlock and whispered, "I think our old friend has got it bad for Lori."

"And she him," he whispered back. "Dilated pupils, although that could be the dim lighting. Touching, smiling. Plus she's put up with him for six months. It has to be love."

Molly giggled. "What are you two whispering about?" asked Lestrade, looking a little affronted.

"Private joke," answered Sherlock suavely.

"Well, let's get some drinks before the game starts. Can I get you two something? Lori, my love, what about you?"

"Oh Greg, you know I'm not the best at holding my liquor, but it is the Super Bowl, after all. I'll have a strawberry daiquiri."

"Just water for me, thamks," answered Molly, after Lori had given her preference.

"I guess I'll have a beer," said Sherlock.

"Two beers, a strawberry daiquiri and a water it is!" Greg went over to the bar, which was some distance away. The place was so crowded, the foursome had been forced to sit in a back corner. The huge television screen was still visible of course.

Molly was definitely not averse to being away from the crowd somewhat. Sherlock had become rather a celebrity of late, after solving that big, cross-continental drug ring case that led to many arrests in both England and America. Besides, being in a darkened area with her extremely hot husband was rather nice too.

"Lori, can you give us any tips about America?" Molly asked. "Sherlock and I are trying to decide whether to accept a talk show invitation to go over to Los Angeles at the end of this month"

"Well, I'm a southern girl, so I can't really speak with any authority about people on the west coast, but really, America isn't so different. At least we speak the sane language. Americans also love British accents. I love being here in England but there is one thing I do miss."

"What's that?" asked Molly curiously.

"I miss our big washing machines and dryers. Here you have to do things in small loads, and some things don't get dry properly."

"That's true enough," Molly agreed. "I always have to put my jumpers on the airer afterwards, to dry them properly."

"In America we have huge machines, and our own laundry room where the machine and dryer are housed. Of course, America is much more spread out, for the most part, unless you are in a city like New York."

"Luckily for Molly, I have most of my clothes professionally dry-cleaned," put in Sherlock, "so I don't need to use the washing machine much."

Molly laughed. "Until I came along, you never did any washing anyway! Mrs. Hudson took your underwear to the laundrette for you."

Sherlock smirked. "She insisted on treating me like a son. But I do allow you to wash my underwear now, love."

Molly laughed, "Oh you 'allow' me, do you?" She felt Sherlock squeeze her hand under the table, as if to tell her he was kidding, not that she'd had any doubt of that anyway.

Greg came back with the drinks then, just in time, for the gane was about to start.

Molly tried to pay attention to the game for the first fifteen minutes, but she was totally lost. To her, it just seemed like a bunch of men wearing some kind of armour, trying to push against each other. She looked over at Sherlock. He was looking at her with a faint smile on his face.

The people in the pub, including Lori and Greg, were yelling at the umpires about something on the screen.

"What are you smiling at?" Molly asked Sherlock.

"You," he replied. "You get this adorable look on your face when you are confused, but trying not to show it. You have no clue what is going on, do you?"

"Well, neither do you," she retorted.

"Oh, I agree, my love," he said readily, placing a hand on her knee. "I haven't even been watching. I'd much rather watch you."

His voice held a caressing note that Molly did not miss. She gulped. "This is beginning to feel like when you took me to see the Star Wars movie a few weeks ago."

He moved his hand a little further up her leg. "With one major difference," he said in a low voice next to her ear. "You aren't really interested in the football either."

"Behave yourself," she hissed, and he complied, although he pouted.

She patted his hand which had returned to his lap. "If you behave for awhile I MIGHT let you kiss me later."

"Fine," he huffed, with the pout still evident on his beautiful face.

"I need the loo anyway." She got up from the table and Lori stood too.

"Are you off to the ladies room?" Molly nodded, amused at the American expression, and the bespectacled brunette said, "Oh good. I'll come too."

After the women had availed themselves of the facilities and were standing at the mirror reapplying lipstick, Lori asked, "Do you think Greg really loves me?"

Molly stared at her new friend in surprise. "Of course he does. Any man who goes to such lengths to learn that convoluted game, excuse me if I sound rude because I don't mean to, must be in love with you."

"Oh, I'm glad," Lori said. "It's just, well, he has been rather thoughtful lately, quiet even. I thought maybe he'd gone off me."

"Lori, Greg is as loyal as they come. I suppose you know about his sad history?"

"Yes," There was a hard note in Lori's voice as she said, "That awful ex-wife. How could she cheat on him all the time? And why did he put up with it for so long?"

"Because he's a sweet, honest man. If he's dragging his feet with you, it's only because he's scared of getting hurt again."

"I'd never hurt Greg." Lori's voice was soft and full of sincerity. "He's my silver fox, the man I've waited for my whole life to find, just like you and Sherlock. If we can have a fraction of the happiness I see between you and your husband, I'll be very happy. You two are so devoted to one another, I'm a bit jealous."

Molly was touched at her friend's words. "You will have that happiness too, I'm sure of it," she said singcerely.

When the women returned to the table, there were fresh drinks awaiting them, courtesy of Sherlock.

"You were gone an unconscionably long time," he muttered to Molly. "I had to spend the whole time listening to Lestrade talk about how much he loves Lori."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I would think you'd be glad of that. There was a time when you were worried that Greg had a crush on me. You were quite territorial around him as I recall." Seeing that people's eyes were fixed on the game, including the friends across from them, Molly used the opportunity to give her husband a quick kiss on the lips.

Before she could move away, he reached a hand behind her head to draw her lips back to his, giving her a long, sensual kiss that made her toes curl and her stomach clench. "Just so you know, wife, I do not plan on remaining here until the end of the game," he said softly, after releasing her. "However, we will stay at least until half-time. Greg has a surprise for Lori."

"Oh, what is it? Please tell me," she begged.

"My lips are sealed." he stated. "You'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

 **Author's note:** As a native Australian who moved to America as an adult, it took me years to learn about American football. It was incomprehensible to me for a long time, although now I can converse on the topic quite well.

The character of Lori (who was introduced in my main multi-chapter story "A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage" ) was written especially for my faithful reader ellemichelleP. The Super Bowl idea is hers, so this is for her. Thanks for the idea.

What is Sherlock keeping from Molly? Any thoughts?

Edited for corrections and better flow 6/25/18


	2. Half-time Show and Beyond

Greg and Lori gave each other a high five as the Eagles made a touchdown just before halftime, bringing the score to 22-12 in favour of the Eagles.

The Super Bowl was finally half over. Sherlock smothered a yawn and checked his watch. It was already quarter past one in the morning. No wonder he was yawning. He had his right arm around Molly who had shortly before slipped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest, saying she was feeling very sleepy. She could be forgiven her tiredness. He knew the baby she was carrying, their baby, caused her to get tired more easily, especially now that she was entering the third trimester. He kissed the top of her head and looked over at Greg and Lori. They were chatting animatedly about the goings-on of the game thus far.

The half-time show began, some guy named Justin Timberlake. Hadn't he been in some boy band? Sherlock closed his eyes and searched his mind palace. He was actually surprised when he was able to retrieve the information. He had half thought he might have deleted the information, but apparently not. Timberlake had been a part of the boy band "NSYNC."

The noise in the pub was almost deafening, and Sherlock was amazed that Molly was able to sleep at all. Greg and his girlfriend suddenly stopped talking and started kissing. Sherlock noted idly that they had both finished their second drink, and apparently Greg had purchased them a third round at some point. He himself was still nursing his second beer, only too aware of his own limitations when it cane to drinking alcohol.

Sherlock's eyes caught a sudden hand motion from Greg, the pre-arranged thumbs up signal they had discussed earlier. Surreptitiously, while his inspector friend was keeping the former American woman distracted, Sherlock pulled an object out of his shirt pocket and dropped it into her glass. The fireworks, hopefully happy ones were about to begin.

"Molly," he whispered, squeezing her shoulder gently, "wake up. You've got to see this."

She yawned and stretched. "How long was I sleeping? What time is it?"

"You were only sleeping for about fifteen minutes. The half-time show is on. It's about one-thirty. There's something you will want to see."

Molly looked over at Greg and Lori, then back at Sherlock questioningly. "They're kissing. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is about to happen. Just watch, sweetheart."

Greg had stopped kissing his girlfriend and Lori was giggling.

"Phew," said Greg, rather loudly. "All that snogging is making me thirsty." He took a big swig of his beer, then said, "Aren't you thirsty, Lori? Have some more to drink."

"I really shouldn't," she demurred. "I'm already tipsy after two drinks."

Lestrade laughed. "Go on Lori, remember, it's the Super Bowl. We're here to have a little fun."

Sherlock squeezed Molly's shoulder again, "This is it," he whispered in her ear.

Lori lifted her daiquiri to her lips to take a sip. Suddenly she said sharply, "Something's in the glass! It must not have been cleaned properly."

"Let me see," ordered Lestrade. He unceremoniously dipped his hand into the glass and fished out the object. "Is this what was in there?"

Lori took one look at it and gasped. "Greg, is that what I think it is?"

"It is," said Greg, looking a little shy now. He had enlisted Sherlock's help when the ladies had gone to the toilets earlier. Sherlock rather suspected this had been Greg's intention all along, when the unexpected invitation had been sent inviting Molly and himself to watch the Super Bowl with the other couple.

Now Greg held a palladium double clover ring towards Lori. "My Lori, my sweet southern Scarlett. I know we've only been seeing each other for a few months, but in that time I've realized I don't want to be without you. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, if you'll let me. Will you marry me?"

Sherlock noticed that Molly was fully awake now, staring at the couple in front of them. Her mouth was parted and she looked so beautiful he wanted to kiss her, but this was Lestrade's moment, so he forced himself to return his attention to Greg and Lori.

Tears were falling down Lori's face as she said, "Yes Greg, yes, of course I'll marry you."

Lestrade lifted Lori's hand and put the ring on her engagement finger. Sherlock observed that the ring looked a little loose and reflected that Greg should have asked for his help when it came to getting the right size. He, Sherlock had known Molly's ring size perfectly just from looking at her hand, and her ring had been a perfect fit.

Lori, however, didn't seem to mind. She proceeded to kiss her new fiancé thoroughly.

Sherlock felt Molly slip her hand into his. Her eyes were shining and full of tears. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so thrilled for them! Both of them deserve to be happy."

He smiled smugly. "I helped the path of true love. Greg gave me the ring earlier, when you ladies went to the toilets. He wanted me to put it in her glass at half-time."

"Well, I think you deserve a reward too then, for playing cupid," Molly said in a rather breathy voice. She drew his head down and kissed him, and he luxuriated in the touch of her sweet lips.

When the kiss ended, Greg's voice said a little peevishly, "Geez you two, one would think you were the ones who just got engaged, not me."

"Sorry Greg," Molly said with a laugh. "I was just rewarding Sherlock for helping you. Congratulations to both of you. I'm so happy for you!"

"Yes, of course, congratulations," Sherlock echoed his wife's sentiment.

The newly engaged pair smiled at them and then each other.

The half-time show had almost ended and Molly excused herself to use the loo again. "Sorry, pregnancy you know. Really messes with my bladder."

Greg and Lori settled in to watch the second half of the game. Greg had his arm around his new fiancée, and Sherlock felt a little piqued when his wife seemed to take an extremely long time to come back.

Finally Molly returned, stowing her handbag under the seat. "Sorry I took so long," she apologized. "There was a line of women waiting for the loo."

"That's alright," said Sherlock gruffly. "I missed you, though."

Molly slid her arms around his waist. "You missed me? Why don't you show me how much?" She gave him a seductive look that almost made him groan out loud. She lifted her lips to his, inviting his kiss. If he hadn't known better he would have assumed she had had too much to drink. He supposed her pregnancy heightened libido was kicking in again.

There were people yelling at the screen again about the Patriots scoring another goal...no that wasn't right - a touchdown. Sherlock knew nobody was paying attention to them as he touched Molly's lips with his. An immediate fire erupted within him. Perhaps it was the combination of her sweetness,and the fact that they were kissing in a public place. It was quite intoxicating.

His lips moved over Molly's, and she parted hers more, allowing him to access her mouth with his tongue briefly, then he sucked gently on her lower lip before pulling away.

He could see her eyes were half closed with desire, the same desire he was feeling.

"Sherlock," she said, pulling him close so she could whisper in his ear. "I took off my knickers in the bathroom and stuffed them in my handbag."

Sherlock felt his head swim. Abruptly he stood, pulling Molly up with him.

"Sorry to do this to you," he told the other couple. "We have to go. Uh, Molly's really tired. Pregnancy exhaustion you know."

He flung on his coat, buttoning it securely, then grabbed the other Belstaff and helped Molly put it on, not buttoning hers. He grabbed her handbag and thrust it at her. His fingers were trembling with need. **Oh Lord, but she was a naughty little angel, he thought. And she looked so damned smug too, knowing what she was doing to him.**

"Uh yeah, so text us with the final score, Greg. Congratulations to both of you again."

"Yes, congratulations," piped up Molly, who no longer seemed the least bit sleepy, putting the lie to his words of a few moments before.

They headed out of the pub. Fortunately there were taxis already waiting for people. Sherlock hastily helped Molly into one, gave the cabbie instructions for Baker Street, then got in himself.

With it being the dead of night, he was not worried about the cabbie seeing what was going on, so Sherlock lost no time in taking his wife's face between his hands and giving her a hard, urgent kiss. He rand his hands along her body, stopping to cup her breasts and knead them until she squirmed. "Say you're sorry, Molly," he ordered in a low voice.

"Why?" She gasped in a breathy voice.

"You know why, you little vixen. Telling me you took your knickers off in a public venue. Making me want you so badly we had to leave right away before I embarrassed myself."

He began to kiss her neck, taking special care to lick, then kiss the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.

She whimpered again, further inflaming his desire, and said weakly, "I didn't think I'd get such an...immediate reaction from you."

"Liar," he purred, sliding his hands beneath her off-the-shoulder neckline to caress her bare flesh. "You know exactly what drives me wild for you. Perhaps I should just punish you, and make love to you right in this cab." He knew he probably could have. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But he wasn't really that idiotic. He just wanted to make sure Molly was thoroughly ready for him to take her to bed the moment they got home.

"N..no, Sherlock, we mustn't."

"I seem to remember you singing a different tune on the limo ride back home from my parents' house the day after Christmas."

"That was different. The driver was a long way away from us."

"Oh my love, if I said no then, do you really think I'd do that to you now?" He kissed her fevered brow. "But I am going to take you straight to the bedroom the minute we get home, and don't you dare say you need the loo!"

"No, Sherlock," she whispered.

He thought she actually sounded a little fearful, and held her close. "I love you, sweetheart. If you really don't want me to take you to bed as soon as we get home, I'm not going to ravish you."

"Of course I want you to, Sherlock. Can we just cuddle now till we get home though?"

"Of course, darling," he assured her. He deliberately concentrated on slowing his breathing. Before they knew it, the cab had arrived at Baker street.

Sherlock threw some money at the cabbie, saying, "Keep the change." Then he and Molly hurried upstairs to their flat.

Sherlock locked the door, not that he expected any unwelcome visitors in the middle of the night. But one never knew with Mrs. Hudson. She had a tendency to turn up at the most inconvenient times.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, after hanging up his Belstaff and the one he had loaned to Molly.

"I think you were getting all hot and bothered about the fact that I'm not wearing any knickers," supplied Molly helpfully.

And that was all it took for the flame within him to surge upwards and start consuming him from the inside out. True to his word, he picked Molly up in his arms and carried her to their bedroom.

Once there, he lost no time in divesting himself of his clothes. It was a very simple process to remove Molly's, seeing as she wore the dress and nothing else. Then he laid her gently onto the bed and kissed her again, even as his hand explored her body, touching her, tantalizing her until she was whimpering with need and begging him to be with her, to make love to her. He joined with her at last, and they made love. It was swift, and it was urgent, as they climbed the heights of ecstasy together, as he continued to caress her, until they crested the peak of their love and passion almost simultaneously. Nothing else in the world at that moment existed but themselves and their limitless love for one another.

As they lay entwined in each other's arms afterwards, Molly said, in a voice that was still a little unsteady after their passionate union, "I wonder who won the Super Bowl?"

"You know how Greg called Lori his Scarlett? I believe that nickname was a reference to Lori's southern roots, like Scarlett O'Hara in ' the Wind.'"

"And what does this have to do with me wondering who won the Super Bowl?"

Sherlock kissed her forehead. "Darling, I'm merely giving you context for my next words, which were spoken by Clark Gable, as Rhett Butler to Scarlett O'Hara. 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.'"

Molly dissolved into giggles. "You know what? Come to think of it, neither do I!"

* * *

 **Author's note:** What did you think of Greg's proposal? Doesn't the ring sound lovely? That was also suggested by ellemichelleP.

If you enjoyed reading this, please let me know. If you didn't, let me know what I could have done to make it better.

FYI, the limo ride referred to in this chapter comes from my "Christmas in Sussex" story.

Incidentally, Eagles won 41-33. Yes!

Edited for corrections and improved flow 6/25/18


End file.
